No More Glitching
by willshakespeare-immortalbard
Summary: Friendship only! Cain finds closure, and the whisper goes through the ranks of servants-the Tin Man wasn't heartless. He just had a hard time accepting that there would be No More Glitching...K-plus for sadness. Please read/review!


**A/N—Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Tin Man.**_** That belongs to its owners. **

**Okay, so a long time ago I used to write **_**Tin Man **_**fanfics...but I got rid of them, all save one, which I don't like. So I'm starting anew. I will, eventually, write a sequel to the movie, but as of this point, I'm starting with a oneshot. So...**

**Summary: After the series, but it may be slightly AU, depending on how you view the future. Glitch goes through the surgery for the replacement of his brain. He dies, and Cain finds closure. Cain and Glitch FRIENDSHIP ONLY. **

**No More Glitching...**

He developed, very quickly, an insane hatred of zippers. Insane to the point where he couldn't bear the sight of them. By the time Glitch had been dead a week, Cain had torn the zippers from every pair of pants he owned. He tore them from DG's jeans, too.

He didn't _keep_ the zippers. He hated everything about them. He tossed them into the nearest trash receptacle, spitting on them so that he could pretend that that was the reason why they were wet with splashes of liquid. He never looked back down after he had spat. He never spared a zipper.

Wyatt Cain went so far as to start practicing turning words like _Zipperhead_ and _Headcase_ into insults, searching every tone of his voice, making sure that there was nothing but disdain and disgust in every syllable. And when he failed—when that _stupid stupid _bantering joviality crept back into the words, making them almost affectionate—he started over. He grabbed another zippered costume and tore the offending object free, spitting on it and throwing it aside. And he started over. And he started over. And he—

And he started glitching.

And he stopped eating—because he couldn't even look at an _apple _without hearing Glitch's voice (_"I'd give my last synapse for a nice, juicy apple..."_)—

And he stopped talking—because he sounded like a lost child looking for something—

And he stopped sleeping—because he either had night terrors or he woke up with a panic attack—

And he hid it.

DG and Raw mourned openly. Unceasingly.

The maids whispered that if Cain didn't care about Glitch's death in its own respect, than the least he could do was show some emotion for the sake of the princess.

And he muddled through for a week—and his head hurt—and his stomach hurt—and he still couldn't sleep—

—and he finally slipped out of his bed in the middle of the night, because his room was too hot, and his bed was too uncomfortable, and he could swear—_he could swear_—that he could hear Glitch rambling on and on and on and on and on in his head—

Glitch had been so excited about getting his brain replaced. He had readied his lab with trinkets—_"I've gotten lots of ideas (I don't remember them right now, but once I get my noggin back they'll come, I know they will) and I'll get started as soon as I can—as soon as I can—as soon—oh, there I go. That'll be over too. No more glitching."_—

No more glitching...no more glitching...no more glitching...no more glitching...

The chill air from the lab stopped his brainless rambling. Little tools and such lay scattered around, already beaten up and ragged from Glitch's enthusiastic handling. There were even a few starts...

The metal something didn't fit in his hand. It was supposed to be handheld, but as Glitch had started it, it was made for his hand, and Cain's fingers didn't wrap around it properly—it wasn't that they weren't long enough, more that his hand simply didn't seem to have the right proportions—

He started tinkering. He didn't know how to use most of the tools (only the wrench, if he was honest), but he was smart, and he figured them out. He just wanted to finish this little piece tonight...he just wanted to finish this little piece tonight...he just wanted to finish this little piece tonight...he just wanted—

The next morning the whisper went through the ranks of servants.

_The Tin Man __**had**__ cared. He had just needed to fall asleep, with tear-stained face and ragged breath, at the work table in the lab of the dead Advisor to find closure. _


End file.
